So I wrote this poem a while back, when the agitation for Biafra by Nnamdi Kanu was at its peak.
I'm not much of a poet though.


The story is told of
the birth of justice and freedom
and how the World watched
with envy and loathing
and sought to kill it before
even it began to live

Biafra was born free but
her people were in chains
held by war and pestilence
and famine and disease and hunger
the ones who orchestrated Biafra's woes
were the ones who had dined with her

In the end, Biafra succumbed
and died, and Africa with her
Her remaining people were
left to bemoan and mourn
True freedom and equality
had been lost forever

As the days passed
the lofty dreams and high hopes
of heroes past became
vanity and the aspirations
of a determined race came
to an end

These days, I hear the story
told of a rebirth
of the former glory days
and I wonder
would Biafra survive a
Second Death?